


Remembering You

by palateens



Series: commissions [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Dysfunctional Relationships, Head Injury, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Sometimes, significant events have a way of shouting their importance before they’re even over. They’re like, flashes of memory before total darkness.





	Remembering You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ticktockclockwork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/gifts).



> Hey y'all <3 I have (finally) written a zimbits piece! Ticktockclockwork commissioned zimbits hurt/comfort not involving a hockey injury. So this fic is base on [The Vow](https://youtu.be/tdF01cA7jOE) (trailer in the link in case you're unfamiliar with it). Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

December 2018 

Winter in New England is nothing like in Georgia. It doesn’t lie comatose, stirring occasionally at night or for a freak storm. It coats everything the eye can see in frost and lights. The air stills and the nights get stronger, yet more tender. 

Providence is lit from head to toe in dainty lights glistening against the first real snow of the season. Bitty watches the snow bend around the front of Jack’s car, wisping aimlessly. Were it a few months prior, and several degrees warmer, Bitty would stick his arm out to catch them. But five winters up north hasn’t made him more tolerant to freezing temperatures; just wiser in his wardrobe choices. 

He sighs, pressing his forehead to his window, his hat barely shielding him from the chill outside. 

“We just started driving,” Jack says, disrupting the harmony of Bitty’s holiday playlist. “I can’t be that boring.” 

Bitty rolls his eyes, smirking to himself. “Chirp chirp, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“It’s Bittle-Zimmermann, actually,” he says. 

A hand squeezes his shoulder. Bitty leans into the touch, closing his eyes. 

Bitty hums. “Keep telling yourself that, Sweetpea.” 

“Bits—”

“Jack, I’ll say it until I’m black and blue. It’s just a name. It doesn’t mean a thing to me.” 

They stop at a four way intersection. Jack turns to him, nudging him to meet his eyes. Bitty relents, keeping a stiff upper lip. Jack leans in, attempting to hug him. Bitty unbuckles his seatbelt, wrapping himself tightly around Jack’s shoulders. 

“It’s just a name,” he repeats a few more times. “It doesn’t mean a damn thing.” 

“It’s your name,” Jack reminds him. “You love it. Keep it.” 

Jack’s peacoat is scratchy against Bitty’s face. He grips Jack’s softly with his knit gloves. Remembering to breathe like Jack taught them. Breathe once, then again, then two times, then six. Count backwards from twenty, he recites in his head. Bitty feels a wet drop trailing down his cheek, reminding him he’s still a person capable of feelings, of being hurt. 

Life goes on, even without parents. 

“Maybe,” Bitty says finally. “I’ll think about it.” 

He feels Jack’s smile against his neck, then a kiss to his barely exposed skin. 

“Thank you,” Jack says as he pulls back. 

Bitty remembers Jack once told him what the night of his overdose felt like, flashes of memory before total darkness. 

He sees Jack’s smile glistening because of a nearby streetlight. He hears Sia’s Christmas album playing softly. He hears a truck horn behind him and feels a hand fall away from his shoulder. 

He hears the crunch of metal. He sees glass breaking in front of his eyes. He sees snow sticking to the ground the first time this season as it mixes with blood. 

Then, he sees total darkness. 

_/.\\_ 

It takes the doctors less than an hour to examine Jack, diagnosing him with a mild concussion. It takes them more than an hour to stabilize Bitty. The paramedics rush him to a nurse as soon as they arrive. They don’t allow Jack to follow him back until they know what’s going on with Bitty.  

Jack spends a long stretch of time with his head in his hands in the ER waiting room. He texts Shitty, asking him and Lardo to come down immediately. Shitty tries to call him, but he can’t pick up. 

His parents try to call. He can’t pick up. 

His phone vibrates until his hand feels numb and frozen. Eventually, someone pats him on the shoulder, handing him some water. It helps. 

Some words are murmured into his ears. They don’t form coherent thoughts. They’re as muffled and grey as the rest of the world around him. He shivers more profusely. 

“Kent’s calling.” Lardo’s voice comes into clarity at some point. “Should I answer?” 

Jack nods. 

There are some murmurs back and forth; he really can’t keep track of anything at this point. The waiting room is freezing and the fluorescent lights are burning his eyes from the inside out. 

“What happened?”

“Bits—a truck,” he says. “It’s all my fault.”

“No it wasn’t, pal,” Kent says. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Zimms, ok? Bittle’s gonna be fine.” 

“How do you know?”

Kent clears his throat. “Because he’s a fighter, Jack. Just like you were.” 

Jack hears a softer chuckle, followed by rasped cries. He can’t tell if they’re coming from Shitty or Kent or even Lardo. 

It doesn’t matter. The feeling’s mutual. 

_/.\\_ 

Bitty wakes up the next afternoon, eyes fluttering opening slowly. He looks frail with his face bruised and cut up, his pale hospital gown, and a stitch adorning his forehead. His hair is a field of cowlicks. He’d hate to see himself in a mirror right now. 

Jack’s breath catches in his throat. He sits up stiffly. 

“Bits,” he whispers as he gets up cautiously. “Hey.” 

Bitty blinks slowly, looking around the room. 

“We were so worried about you—” 

“Jack?” Bitty says wearily. He groans as he attempts to sit up, trembling slightly. 

Jack rushes to stop him, putting a gentle hand on his chest. “Wait, rest. You need it.” 

“What happened?” Bitty asks. “Feels like I was hit by a semi-truck.”

“Smaller than that,” Jack corrects without thinking. “But...yea, car accident. You went right through the windshield.”

“Shit,” Bitty says, before gasping. “I’m sorry, Jack. Pardon—”

“It’s ok, Bitty,” Jack assures him. “It’s not the first time you’ve cursed in front of me.”

He balks at Jack. 

“What?”

“I just…don’t remember that,” he admits. 

“You ok, bud?” Jack asks. “They said you have some head trauma.”

“Not really, I guess,” he says, shrugging. 

Jack tries to hug him, but Bitty shies away from it. Slightly hurt, but mostly confused, Jack tries to ignore it. 

“Here, let’s get a nurse,” Jack says as he presses the call button.

Bitty nods, taking a shallow breath. 

The nurse comes quickly enough. She asks routine questions, asking him to recall words. He stumbles through that, which Jack thinks is to be expected. She asks for his name, date of birth, and what’s the last day he remembers. 

“Eric Richard Bittle, May 5th 1995,” he recites easily. “Uh, the last day I remember was last Tuesday. I went to practice, got brunch at my dining hall, went to calculus, which I’m frankly happy to be missing right—”

“Bits,” Jack says quietly, “What year is it?”

Bitty stares at him incredulously. His mouth falls open slightly as he stammers. “2013.”

A spike of fear runs through Jack’s spine. Bitty seems to notice the way he’s frozen in place. 

“What? Jack, what’s going on?” he demands frantically. “And why do you keep calling me Bits?” 

“Sir,” the nurse says slowly. “It’s December 19th 2017.” 

Bitty pales. For the first time since he woke up, Jack can tell they’re on the same page. 

_/.\\_ 

The guys come by a few hours later to visit. They, especially Holster, are very loud and raucous. Bitty puts on a brave face for them, smiling and trying his best to lie through his teeth about how he’s doing. Jack thinks he’ll cave soon, but he doesn’t. He forgot how great Bitty is at deflecting.  Jack can’t stand more than five minutes of it. 

“He doesn’t remember,” Jack says, cutting off another one of Holster’s long-winded anecdotes. 

“Well, duh, bro,” Holster says. “He didn’t go to Newbury Street with us last weekend.” 

“No,” Jack sighs. “He lost his memories. He doesn’t remember the last five years.”

The room falls silent. 

“Fuck,” Shitty says. “Nothing Bits?” 

“No,” Bitty says, shaking his head mournfully. “Sorry.” 

“Not even graduating college?”

“Nope.”

“Not even being our fearless captain?”

“Me? Fearless and captain of the hockey team?” He eyes Shitty suspiciously. “You sure you’re not just yanking my chain?”

“First, I would never yank anything without your consent. Second, really? Nothing? Not even when Jack won the Stanley Cup and you guys—”

“That’s enough,” 

“No wait, what were you going to say?” 

Shitty side eyes Jack, who’s using every once of mental energy to glare at him sternly. “Uh...nothing.”

Bitty glares at both of them. “Y’all are my friends and you won’t tell me about my own life?”

“We just don’t want to see you upset, bro,” Ransom argues. “Five years is a long time. Ease into it, ok?” 

“Says the med student,” Bitty retorts. 

Ransom blushes. “Actually, no. I, uh, I’m a consultant for a startup...with Holster.” 

Bitty’s face softens, he nods. “Ok, start from the beginning.” 

Ransom and Holster look at each other, silently exchanging glances before nodding. Holster claps an arm around Ransom. 

“Alright, Bits, where do we start? You remember coming out?”

Bitty gapes, shaking his head. “Start from there. Tell me everything, and don’t stop.” 

_/.\\_ 

They barely get through Jack kissing Bitty after graduation when the Bittles come bursting through the door. Jack does his best to not kick them out on the spot. No matter how much he’d like to, this Bitty still cares for them. He still believes they can change. 

Suzanne comes running toward the bed with tears in her eyes. “Dicky, oh thank goodness you’re awake. We were so worried about you.” 

Bitty instinctively wraps his arms around her, shuddering. “I’m ok, Mama.” 

“Oh hush,” she says. “You don’t have to be strong for us, baby. We’re just glad you’re ok.” 

For the first time all day, he breaks his steely facade. He rests his head on his mother’s chest and starts to cry. Jack signals for their friends to file out. Shitty pantomimes ‘call me’ as Lardo pushes him out the door. 

“How’d you know I was here?” 

“Hospital called us,” Coach answers. “Wouldn’t let Jack back here without our consent.” 

“Oh,” Jack says, “thank you.” 

Coach shakes his head. “It’s bullshit and I told ‘em as much. A man should always be able to get to his partner.” 

“Fiance,” Jack corrects without thinking. 

Bitty pulls away from Suzanne. “What?” 

Jack blushes. “Bits has memory lost.” 

“How much? What’s the last thing you remember baby?”

“Um, we were on the phone,” Bitty says, scratching his head. “I was thanking you for sending my roller to my dorm.” 

“That was five years ago,” Suzanne whispers. 

Her eyes frantically catch the Coach’s. He shrugs. 

Suzanne hugs Bitty even tighter. “It’s ok, you’ll get your memories back. In the meantime, your daddy and I are here to take care of you, both of you. Right Jack?” 

Bitty smiles brighter than he has all day. Brighter than before they got engaged, and even before they came out. 

He can’t say no to Bitty’s happiness. So Jack does his best to put on a tight smile and nod. Bitty doesn’t remember them, so he doesn’t notice the fear in Jack’s eyes. 

Bitty takes the smile at face value. Like he would a stranger. 

_/.\\_ 

Bitty spends the better part of a week in the hospital. Friends parade through. People he doesn’t remember, but who are apparently his closest friends, bring him things he knows are thoughtful. He gets family recipes, his favorite blanket from the apartment. Pictures of his cat, for fuck’s sake. 

He doesn’t even like animals all that much. 

He can hardly keep up with the subtle exchange of hockey nicknames and real first names. Dexter? Brings him a new attachment for his camera phone (an iPhone that’s much larger than he expected them to go). Nurse? Derek? tells him what he did last weekend at this gay club in Brooklyn. 

“Bits, you’d totally love it, man,” he says with a charming laugh. “This DJ was lit. He spent fifteen minutes doing a Destiny’s Child Fifth-Harmony chill remix. Everyone just stopped—a couple shot-skis, some people went out to vape or trip—it was the best. I ended up in a craft cafe with this couple from Yonkers talking about gender fluidity.”

“Derek, I don’t think he understood a word you just said,” Dexer says. 

“Dex, chill,” Derek says. “I’m just saying once he feels up to it, we’ve got half of the city for him to rediscover.” 

Dex mutter something under his breath. 

“Dex, stop pouting,” the girl that came in with them and Chris says. “Nursey, mi rey, you're deflecting a little.” 

“Yea, ok,” Derek mutters at the same time Dex says, “Yes Farmer.” 

“Oh that’s alright,” Bitty says with as bright a smile as he can muster. “I’m just happy to hear about more than just hockey stats.” 

Farmer looks at Chris, biting her lip.

“What?” he asks. 

“It’s just—” Chris says, “look we know it’s a lot to adjust to, and maybe we’re not giving them enough credit, but if you ever need anything…” 

“What C’s trying to say,” Derek chimes in, “Is that you’re family’s here, and Jack seems a little on edge. And like, it’s ok to need a break from drama. If you want to get away for awhile, you can totes come down and see us.” 

“Or Parse would let you stay at his place,” Dex adds. 

“Who’s Parse?” Bitty asks. 

“A...friend, of Jack’s,” Farmer says. “But he’s your friend too! You guys are close.” 

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Well why hasn’t he been up yet? I thought I’d met all of you by now...remet, I guess.” 

“Probably busy with his kid,” Dex mutters. 

Chris elbows him in the chest, causing Dex to yelp. 

“What? We can’t tell him basic facts about our lives anymore?” Dex protests. “Parse won’t care.”

“We should give Bitty some air,” Chris says. “We’ll be back with lunch. Want anything? Sashimi? Poke? Char Siu Bao?” 

“Uh, whatever I used to like the most,” Bitty says with a shrug. “Might as well.” 

Chris nods. He and the other boys file out, but Farmer lingers at the door. 

“It’s ok,” she says softly. 

She pushes up one of her sleeves, revealing an arm littered in scars. She doesn’t look at him like everyone else, with pity or false hope. Her gaze is steady, and firm. 

“It doesn’t happen overnight.” 

“What?” he asks.

“Recovery,” she says. “It just...you keep going alright? It doesn’t just click back into place. Nothing does.” 

She leaves the door cracked open. Bitty realizes it’s the first time since he woke up that someone’s given him a real answer. 

_/.\\_ 

Larissa “Lardo” Duan shows up the first day he’s back from the hospital, demanding that they go have fun. 

“C’mon, Bits, you’ve been cooped up for days,” she says. “It’s time to do some major cabin fever prevention.”

“I don’t know…” Bitty says. “What do you have in mind?”

She shrugs. “Probably just grab some PSL’s and hit that bookstore with the cute cashier I wanna ask out.” 

“Oh,” he says. “Well alright.” 

She fist pumps excitedly before pulling him toward the door. She hands him up in what he assumes is his typical winter gear. 

“Where’s my PawPaw’s coat?”

“You wore it out a year ago,” she says. “It’s in the coat closet because you won’t get rid of it.” 

“Of course not he—”

“Wore it when he met Moomaw, and the winter he spent at a deli in New York, and the winter before you were born when it snowed and trapped Suzanne at her house and he had to come shovel her out,” Lardo recites.

Bitty scowls. “Alright, so you know it’s important.” 

Lardo puts a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs her off. He’s had to do that a lot lately, not having the heart to tell strangers who apparently  _ love _ him to stop touching him. She doesn’t draw attention to his behavior, which he is grateful for. 

“‘Course I know it’s important, Bits,” Lardo says. “That’s what friends are for, taking shit seriously when it counts.”

Their walk to Starbucks is very uneventful. Lardo spends the time recounting things Shitty’s done in law school that seem so...well, Shitty. It’s only five, but the sun’s already gone down. The air is still, save for the wisp of their breaths. They grab their drinks and head next door to the independently owned bookstore with the cashier Lardo won’t stop gushing about in between anecdotes. 

“So are you and Shitty…” Bitty says, clearing his throat. 

“What? Together?” 

“Yes? I-Is that ok to ask?” 

Lardo takes a sip of her drink. “Kind of...sometimes definitely.” 

Bitty directs his gaze to the queer poetry on the shelf in front of them. “Well that sounds...complicated.” 

“We just...don’t like labels ok, Bits?” Lardo says. “And sometimes we don’t have time or fucks to give to each other.” 

“Sounds broken,” he says.

“Monogamy is broken,” she mutters. 

“What else is there? Sleeping around until you’re old and deaf?”

Lardo grunts. “I’m gonna ignore that slut shaming because you lost five years of unlearning bullshit.” 

Bitty nods. “That’s probably fair, thanks.” 

“Yea, don’t thank me. Thank Ransom for talking me into patience.” 

“Oh, are y’all close?”

He reaches up to grab a copy of a book called  _ Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns  _ because the title entices him. It reminds him of dark nights spent in his bedroom listening to queer songs on Youtube with an app he’d delete before bed so his parents would never find out he cries to ballads that shouldn’t apply to him. It reminds him of sitting in church and wishing God weren’t a burly old man passing judgement along with the homophobes.  

“Close like lovers,” she says. 

Bitty scowls. “Ok I deserve that.” 

“I’m serious. When I’m not with Shitty, I’m with Ransom or this girl Courtney.” 

He closes his eyes, biting back a scathing comment about bisexuals and whores. She’s right, he thinks. He doesn’t know how to treat people without Southern disdain and maybe a little close-mindedness. 

“Tell me about her,” he says softly. 

Lardo talks, and she talks. She pulls him through the entire store, showing him things he might like. When they get to the cashier, he goes to pay first for the one book. Lardo stops him. 

“Don’t get that,”

“Why not?”

“Because you already own it,” she says. “Nursey bought it for you three years ago. He said you guys were philosophical religion buddies—something about God being Vishnu but also a lesbian?” 

“Oh,” Bitty says, because that’s all he seems to know how to say anymore. 

Nothing profound, nothing from the heart. Just...baffled epiphanies. Lardo jostles him a bit a minute later. 

“C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink on the way home,” she says. 

“I can’t have alcohol.” 

“More caffeine, then,” she says. “That’s gotta be safer.” 

Bitty chuckles. It’s liberating. “Yea, probably.” 

Lardo rolls her eyes, kissing him on the cheek as they leave the store. 

“Hey smartass,” she says. “We’re fine, ok? You’re friends aren’t gonna abandon you when it’s convenient.” 

He blushes, unused to people knowing him well enough to address his concerns. He doesn’t know her well, but he used to. And the person in front of him is wonderful enough that he’d really, really like to get to know her again. 

“Ok,” he says. “I believe you.” 

_/.\\_ 

A film studio is the last thing Bitty expects Jack to show him in the attic of their town house. Jack shows him around the new equipment, explaining everything to him so Bitty doesn’t have to admit he has no idea what’s up or down in this room. 

“At least the background looks nice,” Bitty mutters. “So I...still do recipes?”

“Yea, uh, mostly,” Jack says. 

“Mostly?” 

“Mostly...for the Food Network,”

Bitty sputters. “The Food Network?!”

“Yea, for The Kitchen… and The Chew. And your manager’s trying to negotiate a show with NBC after Good Morning America.” 

Bitty gapes. “Now Jack Zimmermann, if you’re toying with me, I swear to—”

Jack laughs, waving his hands in surrender. “No, Bits, really. You’re doing it with Tia Mowry and you’re going to call it The Dish.” 

Bitty nods, taking a glance at the room. Everything’s so well organized and beautiful. And more than he could ever afford. It’s more than he deserves, he thinks to himself. 

“What’s the point of having a YouTube Channel then?” 

Jack hesitates, putting a hand on his shoulder. Bitty stops himself from shrugging it away. Jack gets upset whenever he does. 

“You, uh, took a break from it for a while,” he says. “...After we came out.”

“Why?”

Jack sighs. “People...weren’t kind.” 

“Oh, I see,” he says. “That makes sense.” 

Bitty feels nauseous. He can’t tell if it’s just his head or if it’s the continuous feeling of being uprooted and the surrealism that comes from his life not being his own. He assumes mostly the former as a few seconds later, Jack is passing him a small waste bin that he promptly pukes into.     

“It’s ok, bud,” Jack whispers reassuringly. 

He feels beyond humiliated about puking in front of his former captain (his fiance, he’s been told a million times). But then there’s a cold water bottle in his hand, and he forgets how awful he feels for a microsecond. 

“What made me come back?” he asks Jack. 

“Your fans,” Jack says. “...The real ones. They, uh, really missed you. You were really important to them. They wanted to hear your story. Even after you deleted Twitter.”

“I did what?!” Bitty shouts.  

Jack winces. 

“Oh, sorry, hon—Jack,” Bitty says, blushing. “I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Jack shakes his head. “It’s ok. I, uh, I miss it too. We had a lot of fun together...running it.” 

“You ran it with me?”

“Sometimes,” he admits. “When you were procrastinating.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “So always.”

“No,” Jack says lightly. “Only ninety-eight percent of the time.” 

The smirk on his lips is so smug, it almost makes Bitty want to kiss it right off. Almost. 

Bitty snorts. “Oh hardy har Mr. Zimmermann.” 

“It’s Bittle-Zimmermann to you,” Jack chirps. 

His grin falls immediately after the thought escapes his lips. A twisted frown of fear and remorse replaces it. Bitty instinctively wants to comfort him, but he can’t find the words. This...isn’t his life, not anymore. He doesn’t feel for Jack the same way Jack clearly feels for him. He’d do anything for it to be different. But he won’t just jump into the arms of the first man that’s ever looked at him the way he wishes he could be loved. 

He nudges Jack’s shoulder gently, hoping that will convey some reassurance or warmth or something like care. Of course he cares about Jack. He’s not a monster. But he isn’t in love.   

Jack excuses himself, leaving quickly. 

Bitty sighs, falling into a plush leather chair with a low back that he apparently films in. He takes a deep breath. His eyes scan over every inch of the room, surveying this empire that Jack bought for him. It makes his skin crawl. 

But then again, Jack doesn’t lie to him, Bitty thinks. 

He stares at the camera in front of him for a long time. Finally, he gets up, turning on the main lights. He removes the camera lens and clumsily finds the capture button. 

He sits back down in his chair, taking a deep breath. He looks at his expensive Doc Martins, counting down from ten. At one, he lifts his head up, flashing the camera the biggest smile ever. 

“Hey y’all,” he cheers. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I last posted...I probably should’ve checked that first…But I’m here! And boy, do I have a story to tell you…” 

_/.\\_ 

Mama is around all day every day. Bitty appreciates it, and he loves that he can talk to her about anything, really anything, for the first time in years. But her presence is getting to be a little too much. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and she’s been ordering around him, Coach, Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Holster, and Ransom all day. She’s clearly coddling him by letting him stick to deserts and bun making. But despite his insistence that he can handle anything, she keeps shooing him off back to his marble countertop. 

Suzanne orchestrates the kitchen and dining room (and tree) likes it’s her grand opus. She chastises Coach and Shitty whenever they get catch up in watching football. 

“Say what you will about cultural appropriation, but the Redskins are on a roll this season,” Coach argues at one point. 

“With all due respect, Coach, their defense is weaker than their argument for their wildly disgusting name,” Shitty says. 

“Shits, you’re doing that white savior thing again,” Ransom says. 

Shitty glances at Coach once more, before coughing loudly and straightening up his ugly santa tie. “Sorry, gonna back off.” 

“Boys, less yacking, more unpacking,” Suzanne shouts. “Larissa, go with Adam to pick out a nice tree.” 

Bitty takes it in stride, because he’s used to her meddling. Jack, however, does not. 

“The tree’s in the basement,” Jack says. “We use an artificial one.” 

Suzanne steps out of the kitchen, putting her hands on her hips. “Well why would you ever do that?” 

“Christmas trees are expensive, we celebrate Chanukah first...Bitty’s allergic to pine trees,” Jack lists off tensely. 

“Dicky’s not allergic to trees,” she snaps. 

“Actually, he is,” Ransom interjects. “He got mad hayfever in 2014 because of the tree we put in the Haus.” 

Suzanne clenches her fists. “Bitty would never get sick and not tell me.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something, before snapping it shut. He glares at Suzanne like she’s dead to him. It makes Bitty’s stomach drop. 

“Wow, ok,” Lardo says. “Cut it out.”

“Yea, let’s dial this back eighty million percent,” Holster says. “Lards, let’s grab the tree.” 

Suzanne and Jack watch them until the front door slams shut. Ransom, Shitty, and Coach pretend not to notice. Suzanne puts her hands on her hips, huffing impatiently. 

“Jack, I’m not trying to stir up any trouble—”

“Thank you,” he says curtly. 

It makes Bitty realize that he’s been around Bitty for so long that the mannerisms have rubbed off on him. 

Suzanne smiles tightly. “Why don’t we leave that nasty stuff at the door, let bygones be bygones, and have a nice, pleasant Christmas?” 

Jack mutters something under his breath, clenching his fists. 

“What was that?” she snaps. 

Jack takes a deep breath, pursing his lips. “Nothing...I’ll go see if they need help in the basement.” 

He storms out without another word. 

It takes a moment for Bitty’s mind to process what Jack said. The blood drains from his face. 

_ That’s what you said when we came out.  _

_/.\\_ 

Christmas Eve passes with only a few incidents. Jack puts on his best media smile for Bitty. Bitty can’t tell the difference, and it makes him happy. That in itself is worth everything. They missed most of Chanukah because of the accident. 

Jack’s parents offered to come down, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same. Bitty doesn’t remember them. He wouldn’t find comfort in Alicia regailing him in anecdotes or Bob cooking for them. He’d be worried out of his mind that these strangers were in his home, not letting him impress them. 

They go to bed that night in the same bed for the first time in weeks because there aren’t enough beds to house their friends, the Bittles, and themselves separately, not even with the pull-out couch Jack’s been relegating himself to.

Out of habit, Jack reaches out to cuddle Bitty...who shies away from him like normal. He brushes it off casually, scooting back to watch Bitty scroll through his phone. Eventually, Bitty’s phone hand starts to droop. Jack reaches over, catching the phone before it can fall to the floor. 

He puts the phone on the nightstand, pausing a moment as he hovers over Bitty’s head. Against his better judgement, Jack pecks him lightly on the forehead. 

“Night, Bits,” he whispers. “Merry Christmas.” 

He doesn’t say  _ I love you, I miss you, I’m so lonely without you, _ because it hurts too much to admit. 

_/.\\_ 

Bitty’s story time video about his accident makes over a million hits the day in January he finally decides to post it. His manager promptly calls him and chews him out over it. He has to point out to her that he couldn’t remember what he ate two weeks ago, let alone what he was doing with his career. She backed off quickly, mildly threatening him about revealing so much of himself again in the future. 

He tells her he wants to scale back and slow down on the plans they had previously. She argues with him about The Dish until he’s tired and fed up. He tells her to do whatever she wants, just leave him out of it until absolutely necessary. He spends most of that afternoon sobbing in the coat closet because he can hardly take going to the grocery store lately. He can’t handle a career where everyone knows his name. 

Which is how he got the idea to binge watch every video he’s ever made. He starts from the beginning (what he can remember from high school) and keeps going forward until the present. Jack sits with him through most of it, offering comments when they get to the Samwell years (or the lost years, as Bitty’s grown accustomed to calling them). 

He foolishly (childishly) hopes they’ll jog his memory. All they do is leave him in an angry, teary fit about the best years of his life that he’s been robbed of. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t stop Jack from touching him. He clings to Jack’s body tighter than ice to a windowpane. 

His chest heaves in sorrow until his lungs burn. Jack keeps him on the couch the entire evening, murmuring reassurances. 

“It’s not fair,” he says. “It’s not fair to you, it’s not fair to me. I...I wish I could love like I do in these videos. But I can’t, Jack.” 

“It’s ok,” Jack whispers, clutching him tighter. “You’ll get there.” 

Bitty swallows thickly, blinking back tears. His eyes meet Jack’s for what feels like the first time ever. 

“What if I don’t?” 

Jack shakes his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Please, let’s be practical for one second—” 

“I am, the doctor’s said you’re getting better.”

“But my memory isn’t—”

“Just give it time—”

“How long, Jack?” Bitty snaps. “How long are we supposed to mope around here like a bunch of idiots hoping for something that’s never going to happen?! I can’t pretend to be this man you fell in love with and hold you back for the rest of your life!”

He expects his point to finally sink in for Jack, for him to give up on Bitty. Like he was always meant to, like everyone else does. He kisses Bitty fiercely, chastely. 

“You’re still him,” Jack says. “More than you know.” 

Because he has nothing left to go on but another man’s word and years’ worth of videos, Bitty has no choice but to take his word for it. For now. 

_/.\\_ 

Jack dreams of how life was two months before. He wakes up with tears in his eyes. He rolls over to his nightstand, checking the time on his phone. It’s two in the morning on Valentine’s Day. He scrubs his face, deciding sleep is useless at this point. 

He gets out of bed, tiptoeing softly to the kitchen. He gets himself a glass of water and decides to read his emails. He ignores texts from Snowy asking if he needs anything. He doesn’t bother to look at Georgia’s voicemails, knowing they’ll say the same things as always, ‘how are you? How’s he doing? Whenever you’re ready to come back, let us know’. 

Jack can’t focus on his career at the moment. Bitty’s recovery is the only thing that matters as far as he’s concerned. He stills works out with his trainer, calls his parents twice a week, and goes to his therapist. 

Routines keep him sane; Bitty’s gradual acceptance of him gives him hope. 

He paid to put the Bittles up in an extended stay hotel, knowing Suzanne won’t leave until she’s satisfied with Bitty’s recovery. 

Knowing her, nothing will ever be enough, Jack thinks to himself. He puts on a documentary about Star Wars, hoping to relax. 

He receives a text halfway through the movie. 

**Kenny (3:06am):** What are you doing up? 

**Jack (3:07am):** You always say that

**Kenny (3:19am):** Half the time I’m right, so fuck you 

Jack snorts, rolling his eyes. 

**Kenny (3:21am):** but seriously, you ok? Wanna talk about it?

**Jack (3:22am):** i can’t 

**Kenny (3:23am):** because…?

**Jack (3:33am):** Bits is asleep. Insomnia’s getting better but I can’t wake him. 

**Kenny (3:35am):** right, fuck. 

**Kenny (3:36am):** you need help? Want me to come up?

**Jack (3:40am):** don’t be stupid, you have a baby 

**Kenny (3:41am):** yea, and a husband who can watch her, and ma and Izzy. 

**Kenny (3:46am):** look, Suzanne sounds like a fucking pill and everyone else is busy af. I think you need someone in your corner alright? 

**Jack (3:55am):** it’s fine Kenny. We’re fine. I’m fine.

**Kenny (3:58am):** Alright you’re lying through your teeth but I need three hours before Jules needs another feeding. So I’m pausing this until tomorrow. 

**Kenny (3:59am):** but this isn’t over, I mean it

**Jack (3:59am):** night Kenny 

_/.\\_  

He makes plans and brainstorms videos. Bitty cross references his old videos, his notes, and the number of hand-scrawled recipes he has in multiple binders in the kitchen. How he hasn’t published a cookbook yet is beyond him. 

His manager mentioned something about the first binder getting published in May, though. He isn’t sure he’ll be ready for the media tour she keeps talking about every time she decides to call (which is much more often than he was expecting, despite her insistence that she’s cut back).

Bitty makes calendars, reorganizes recipes, and creates plans to spur new plans. He tries to keep up with his old filming schedule and fails spectacularly. He doesn’t have the same experience in video editing anymore, and he’s already run out of the holiday themed videos he’d pre-recorded before his accident. 

Not for the first time on Valentine’s Day this year, Bitty cries with his head between his knees on the floor of the kitchen. People want him to work;  _ he _ wants to work. But for the life of him, he can’t focus for shit. 

Jack comes home from his morning workout eventually. Bitty, unfortunately, hasn’t pulled himself together yet. 

“Bits, bud, what’s wrong?” 

“How did I ever graduate college? I can barely get off the fucking bed, let alone be responsible,” he says.

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. He offers a hand, helping Bitty up. 

“Executive dysfunction,” Jack says. 

It confuses Bitty enough to startle him out of his thoughts. “Come again?”

“Executive dysfunction. It’s what you had...or have,” he says. “You went to a psychologist after we came out. The pressures were too much. You couldn’t focus on school before, but after…”

“So that’s what I have?”

“Sort of,” Jack says hesitantly. “You have ADHD and PTSD. But executive dysfunction is part of that.” 

“Great.” Bitty sighs. “I’m crazy.” 

“You’re not,” Jack says sternly. “You’re mentally ill. You just need to do things differently. We both do.” 

Bitty feels like an asshole for not realizing, or really remembering, Jack has his own problems. “I’m sorry Jack, I didn’t—”

“I know,” Jack interrupts. “It’s fine.” 

Bitty nods, too tired to call Jack out on what he knows is a lie. He’s gotten good at reading Jack’s tells. But he’s still not comfortable enough to get him to stop. He likes the charade between them. The idea that things are magically getting better. 

Bitty sighs tiredly. “Ok, executive dysfunction...ADHD...how did I manage before?”

Jack grins softly. It takes all of Bitty’s mental power to stop himself from blushing. 

“I’ll show you,” Jack says. 

It’s not such a disappointing Valentine’s Day afterall. 

_/.\\_ 

Jack’s pointers help, but only so much. Bitty isn’t in the habit of thinking of himself. He doesn’t stop to consider his feelings or his physical needs, and just the thought makes him uncomfortable. 

He muddles through the rest of the week, and the week after that. He tries to get out of bed every day by himself. Sometimes he gets there in five minutes. Most days, Jack has to gently push him out.    
It’s gotten easier to sleep together, which helps save face in front of his mother. But he’s sick of feeling like a disappointment and a bad guy for not returning the subtle affection Jack sends him every minute of every day. 

He just can’t pretend to be in love with someone he’s not. 

It’s easier with their friends. They take the reigns for the most part, and he pretends everything is fine. He smiles until his cheeks ache. He hums neutrally until he hates the timber of his own voice. 

Nursey is the most persistent culprit. He calls once a week (sometimes more) to check in. He keeps the conversation easy but amicable. He doesn’t poke or prod Bitty like Shitty or Holster or even Lardo do. He just...let’s Bitty breathe. 

It’s nice when Bitty’s moods aren’t haywire, like today, when all Bitty wants to do is crawl under his bed or smash a lamp against the wall. 

Nursey’s been talking for a half an hour straight. He’s been rambling about parties, work deadlines, and Dex’s new soldering iron. He won’t stop talking, and Bitty would like nothing more than to—  

“Bits, bro, you alright?” Nursey says. “You look—”

“Out of it? Tired? Not fucking cheery like everyone’s used to?” Bitty snaps. “News flash, Derek, not all of us can self-medicate with pot every goddamn fucking week.” 

Nursey blinks, “Wow, ok. That’s one way to be a racist douchebag.” 

“That’s not—”

“Yea, well, just like I told you my frog year, intent and impact are two different things. You get the privilege of forgetting you have advantages as a white cis man that I’ll never get.Congratulations, Eric.” 

Bitty rubs his temple. “Nursey...I didn’t...ugh, I-I did didn’t I?” 

“Did what?”

“Lash out.” 

“No shit,” Nursey says. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Nursey sighs, nodding. “Don’t let it happen again.” 

“I’m sorry, ok?” Bitty insists. “It’s been a long...life. I don’t know who I am anymore, Derek. I don’t know what’s up or down. I’m just...lost.” 

“Yea, well, I get it but I don’t,” he says. “Like, I want you to get better and be ok, but I don’t like you like this. You’re that same casually racist guy from Georgia I thought was my friend.” 

“Yea? So how come we’re friends now?” 

“You learned. You got better, dumby. You...were there for me when a lot of people weren’t. You were the fucking best.”

Nursey’s voice drops off. His eyes empty and listless. It looks like if he could, he would choke out his heart. 

Bitty blushes. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something for you...be that person again.” 

“Yea, me too,” Nursey says. “You lost your memories. I lost my best friend.” 

He watches Derek mutter excuses and hang up. Bitty slumps against his laptop screen. For the first time since he woke up, he feels truly and utterly alone. 

_/.\\_ 

Jack keeps a brave face on for as long as physically possible. He smiles through conversations with Suzanne and awkward run-ins with Bitty. He keeps a steady face and a level head through doctor’s appointments. He breathes and talks himself through panic attacks he hasn’t had so many of in years. (And when that doesn’t work, he calls Maman or Kenny or even Izzy...anyone who knows what to say like Bitty used to.) 

Bitty warms up to him throughout February. By the first week of March, he’s kissing Jack on the lips. Jack hopes it’s a good sign. He begs and pleads to the universe to give Bitty his memories back. He hopes Bitty’s just shy about his recovery, and not putting on a show for Jack’s sake. But Jack doesn't know that to say to Bitty anymore. He can only guess, and troubleshoot, and hope for the best. 

Some days are easier than others. Some days are harder for Bitty, and some are downright terrible for both of them. Today is the absolute worst by far. 

Jack woke up with Bitty in the kitchen, making pies. About seven going on nine, if Jack’s counting is accurate. 

“Bits,” Jack says. 

Bitty ignores him. 

“Bittle...Bitty!” 

“Can’t talk,” he mumbles as the cuts pie dough mindlessly. 

“Why?”

“Busy.” 

Jack approaches him slowly. “How long have you been awake?” 

“I don’t know, a few hours?” Bitty says, he glances briefly at Jack. “Why? What time is it?”

“Eight.”

Bitty pauses, then continues cutting. “Oh, so eight hours...I guess. Maybe more.” 

“You haven’t slept,” Jack says.

“Nope,” Bitty mutters. 

“Go back to bed,” Jack says gently. “I’ll finish these up.” 

“No, it’s fine,” he says. 

“You’re exhausted.” 

“The lattice is a little tricky—”  

“I know. I can handle it,” he assures him. 

Bitty sighs. “Of course you can.” 

Jack tries to ignore his tone. “Can I help you finish them?” 

“No, you don’t know how long to leave the pies in, or how to tell if they’re done—”

“Of course I do,” Jack says curtly. “We’ve been together for four years. We’re  _ engaged _ —”

“We’re not Jack!” Bitty shouts, turning away from the counter for the first time in probably hours. “I don’t know who you are or what we were like together.” He sighs, wringing his flour coated, dough ridden hands together. 

“You’re just my old college captain,” Bitty says quietly. “Who doesn’t hate me anymore.” 

Jack feels light headed. He’s tried everything. He's waited, hoped, negotiated, placated. He's acted, mended, broken, and run himself into the ground. 

He's done this all for Bitty.

“I never hated you,” he says, fists clenched at his sides. “I thought you knew that by now.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Bitty says warily. “You can’t even be in the same room as Mama for more than five minutes.” 

“That’s not—I don’t—it’s complicated!” 

“Explain it to me,  _ sweetheart _ ,” he says.

Jack runs his hands through his hair. Maybe Bitty’s right. Maybe it isn't worth the uphill battle. Not when he's fighting it all alone. 

“You're right,” Jack says. “I can't make you love me. I'm sorry I tried.” 

He walks to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He calls Maman from the bed, watching snow stick to the street below. 

Alicia picks up on the third ring. “Jack?” 

He doesn't say anything. He can't find the words. 

“Sweetheart, what's wrong?” 

“E-everything,” he says. 

“Ok…” she says calmly. “Do you feel safe?”

He watches a car skid outside. He vaguely remembers how he felt after Bitty’s first concussion, after the OD, after the combine...after he thought he lost the love of his life. 

Jack licks his lips, shuddering. “I-I don't know anymore.”

_/.\\_ 

Bitty watches Jack lock himself in their bedroom and is overcome with a deep sense of deja vu. He imagines the look on Jack’s face as he cowers against the door. Only the other side of their room looks completely different...and Jack’s wearing a bright red short sleeve shirt. 

Bitty gasps. He's been here before.

They've both been here before. 

He remembers Holster asking him where to put the pans the morning before Epikegster 2014.

He doesn't know why, but he reaches for his phone, scrolling through the contacts. He thinks he's looking for someone. Fifty names in and he's barely cracked C on the list. 

He remembers Chowder’s favorite pie, kiwi lime. Farmer taught him how to make it after their accidental double date with Jack and Chowder.

He shakes his head as it pounds harder than it has all morning, all night, and all week. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You're ok, you're feelings are valid, one step at a time,” he recites. 

Bitty pauses, unsure of where that came from. He tries looking for a name through his (admittedly too long) favorites list. 

He remembers the first poetry slam Nursey ever took him to. 

A name toward the bottom catches his eye. It reads K with cat, heart, and baby emojis. His finger hovers over the call button for too long. 

He remembers the last time Dex changed his phone battery for him so he wouldn't have to switch to an Android.

“Just do it,” he grunts. “Bite the bullet, you selfish ass.” 

He remembers bonding with Ransom and Lardo about parental expectations as they hotboxed in Lardo’s bathroom. 

He slowly presses the button, putting his ear to the phone. The other person answers on the first ring. 

“Hello? Bits, is that you?” 

The voice hits Bitty like a two ton truck. 

“Kent? Kent Parson?” 

“Uh…yea? Bits is everything alright? Is Jack ok? You haven't called me since...y’know.” 

“Kent Parson,” Bitty enunciates slowly. “You have a heart and a secret emoji name on my phone?  _ You _ .” 

Kent sighs. “Is there a reason you called babe? No offense but Jules—” 

“Julia,” Bitty says slowly. “You have a daughter.” 

“Yes,” Kent says. 

“I've met her once.”

“You have…” 

“You're married to Jeff,” he says.

“Yea,” Kent says. “Fuck, Bits, does this mean—” 

“Kenny,” he rasps. “Please do me a favor, drive up here tonight.” 

“Really? You sure?” 

“I'm sure,” he grips the phone with both hands. “I, uh, I fucked up.” 

“That's specific,” he chirps. “But fine, whatever. I'm bringing the baby and all, though. Jeff’s on a roadie and Izzy’s outta town.” 

“That's fine, you know I love my goddaughter—” Bitty gasps. “How could I ever forget her? I’ll make up for that later. Pies are almost done, I need to pull those out if—”  

Kent chuckles. “Good to have you back buddy. We missed you.” 

Bitty feels a blush creeping up his face. “Yea, me too.”

_/.\\_ 

After he pulls two of the pies out of the oven, he puts them on the cooling rack and wraps the last one up for baking later. He doesn’t bother to clean up because there are more important things to focus on right now—Jack, and his mother. 

He can’t remember exactly what happened, yet. He remembers what it felt like spending years in the closet, hoping maybe someday she’d come around. But she never has, as far as he knows. Why she thought it was a good idea to come up here—  

Bitty shakes his head. Walks to the bedroom. It isn’t locked. That’s good, he thinks. Still, he knocks quietly before entering. He surveys the room quickly, heart nearly breaking when he spots Jack curled into himself on the floor. 

“Jack, breathe in seven, hold six, out five.” Alicia’s voice shouts on speaker phone. She says it again. 

“Sweetpea,” he murmurs. “Jesus, what have I done.” 

He sits down next to Jack, back to the side of the bed. He kicks off his shoes, grabbing Jack’s phone. He follows her instructions once, then twice. 

“Alicia?” Bitty says quietly. 

“Bitty, honey, what’s going on?” 

“We, uh, got into a fight,” he says. “It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” 

“Honey that’s fine, is Jack ok?”

“No, but I’m here now,” Bitty says lightly. “We’re fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

He shakes his head, choking back a sob. “No. We’re drowning down here.” 

“Oh, baby,” Alicia says as she shushes him lightly. 

It clicks in his mind, the feeling of Alicia consoling him while his mother pretended he never came out and his father didn’t say a word. He remembers Alicia being more of a mother than his own had in years. Tears slip down his face in earnest. 

“Maman?” Bitty whispers. “We need you, so badly right now.” 

“Of course, baby,” she says. “I’ll be down in a few hours.”

“Thank you.” 

“Do you want Bob to come to?”

“Yes please,” he begs. 

“On it,” she says. “Just get some rest, and we’ll be there before you know it.” 

He nods before hanging up. Jack’s still a shaking mess next to him, but Bitty can hardly see. 

“Sweetpea, I am so sorry,” he whispers. “But we’re going to get through this, alright? One step at a time.” 

Jack doesn’t respond to his words. 

“Jack? Can you hear me?” 

He nods. 

“Can I touch you?” 

Jack doesn’t respond. 

“Ok,” Bitty says. “I’m just gonna talk, and you can focus on the sound of my voice.” 

Bitty takes a deep breath. Breathe once, then again, then two times, then six. Count backwards from twenty, he recites in his head. He says it outloud for Jack to follow along with him. 

“Remember the time we couch surfed down the stairs of the Haus? Dex landed wrong and we thought he’d broken his arm. But he got up and like ‘it’s fine, just a dislocated shoulder’ and popped it right back in in front of us. Remember what Ransom said?”

“I’m never becoming a doctor,” Jack huffs. 

“What about the time Nursey and I dared each other to get matching tattoos? You had to drive up to Boston to talk us out of it.” Bitty wipes a tear from his eye. “They were cute tattoos too.” 

Jack grumbles something about cheap tattoo shops. 

“Can I touch you?” Bitty asks again. 

He takes a deep breath, nodding. Bitty slowly wraps an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into his chest. Jack’s chest heaves a lengthy sigh as he melts into Bitty. 

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to fight for us so hard for so long,” Bitty murmurs. “You’ve been so brave, baby. I wish I could’ve been there for you too.” 

Jack nods, hugging Bitty’s torso. 

“Maman and Papa are coming into town tonight,” Bitty tells him. “And Kenny too. He’s bringing our godbaby.” 

Jack tenses. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Bitty laughs, blinking through the wetness in his eyes. “You not getting the love and support you deserve, running yourself into the ground for my sake. That’s what’s wrong.” 

“I’m not—”

“Baby, please, I know you have,” Bitty says. “I got amnesia, not stupidity.” 

Jack huffs again. Bitty holds him tighter, kissing the top of his head. They sit there awhile as Bitty murmurs comforting things to Jack. He talks about the pies he made this morning, what they can make for dinner later, and what he wanted to get Jack for Valentine’s Day. Jack’s breathing evens out, he settles more comfortably against Bitty. 

The cold seeps into the hardwood floor. Snow continues to fall lazily outside, swirling and tumbling with as much grace as Bitty’s had the last few months. Bitty shifts uncomfortably, getting cold in his boxers and tshirt. 

“I told you we ought to get a rug for underneath the bed,” Bitty says. 

Jack snorts. “And I told you to wear more clothes to—”

“Sweetpea?” Bitty sits up, carefully, minding Jack on him. “What’s wrong?” 

“You remember the rug,” he whispers. “You  _ remember _ .”   

“Not everything yet...but I’m getting there.” 

“What do you remember?” 

It’s a simple question. But he knows there’s a million answers—and only one that matters.   

“I remember you,” Bitty says. “I remember  _ us _ .” 

Jack is crushing him in a hug an instant later. His Falcs shirt is soft against Bitty’s face. Bitty grips him tightly, clinging for dear life. 

“Breathe, baby,” he says. “We’re ok. We’re going to be ok. I’ll call Mama in the morning, and our friends. We’ll figure this all out together. We’re not alone.” 

Life goes on, Bitty realizes. Life went on even without him fully being there. But people carried him as they marched. They took care of him when he couldn’t. Holding Jack, he knows it’s his turn to do the same. 

“I think you were right,” Bitty says. “Let’s be Bittle-Zimmermanns, together.” 

He feels Jack’s smile against his neck.  

“Thank you,” Jack whispers as he pulls back. 

Sometimes, significant events have a way of shouting their importance before they’re even over. They’re like, flashes of memory before total darkness. 

He sees Jack’s smile glistening because of a nearby streetlight. He hears Sia’s Christmas album playing softly. He hears a truck horn behind him and feels a hand fall away from his shoulder. He remembers hitting the pavement. 

Here, in this moment, he sees Jack’s brilliant smile. He feels lips he’s missed more than air on his. He hears cars honking in the street below. He feels the warmth of Jack’s body intertwining with his as they climb onto the bed together. 

He buries his head in Jack’s chest. He hears Jack murmur sweet nothings and pure, unbridled adoration. 

“Sleep,” Jack whispers. “They’ll wake us when they get here.” 

Bitty nods. “Ok, I love you.” 

“I love you too, always.”  

Then, he sees total darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from Pictures of You by The Cure 
> 
> Thank you so much to ticktockclockwork for commissioning this fic! If you'd like to commission your own story, [find me on tumblr.](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com/)


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